


Fire Is Her Water

by CptEmie



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU, Best Friends, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Herald's Rest, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Angst, Original Character(s), Romance, Slow Burn, Trevelyan family - Freeform, Very Slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-14 13:39:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 14,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4566660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CptEmie/pseuds/CptEmie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very slight AU where Inquisitor Catherine Trevelyan was childhood best friends with Cassandra Pentaghast. Things are relatively normal around Skyhold (well, as normal as it ever is), until Lady Trevelyan's family drops in for a visit with a little surprise of their own.</p><p>COMPLETE AT LAST!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In the days following Haven’s destruction, the Inquisition was struggling to find its footing. Camping in the snowy mountains was wearing on the advisors just as much as the other survivors. Mother Giselle kept steady in her daily leading of the Chant to try to calm nerves. She tended to the sick and the injured with the help of anyone who was able. Commander Cullen kept his recruits at constant vigilance. It seemed doubtful that they would ever see combat again with the delicate state of the Inquisition, but damned if they weren’t going to be ready.

Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine began their arguments in the morning and kept at them until well past nightfall. Too much was at stake to quit – too many peoples’ lives were in the balance. Corypheus would not stop, so neither would they. But how?

On the evening of the third day, Cassandra stepped away to the outside of the camp to collect her thoughts. The snow beyond the camp had hardened into a crusted layer of ice, crunching beneath her feet as she paced. To move forward without the Herald would be near impossible – even she had to admit that. To move forward with the threat of the complete destruction of the Chantry, a mad Darkspawn claiming to be a god threatening to take over all of Thedas, and the utter chaos of the growing violence of the mage rebellion: it was all too much to stomach. She knelt down in the snow and laced her fingers around the back of her neck. A headache was rising and it would take all her concentration to keep it at bay. 

A slow, heavy splintering of frozen snow told her that Commander Cullen was walking up behind her. He stayed silent, but knelt with her and then bent their heads in prayer. “Many are those who wander in sin, despairing that they are lost forever…” 

When, from the whiteness beyond, they heard, “The one who repents, who has faith unshaken by the darkness of the world, she shall know true peace.” The voice fell with an enormous crunch into the snow. 

Cassandra and the Commander sat up abruptly. That voice – could it be her? Could it be possible? Commander Cullen flung himself around the corner of cliff that they had been sitting near, with the Seeker close at his heels. They found themselves face to face with the Herald of Andraste, just before the Herald collapsed into the snow bank. 

“It’s her!” He screamed. “The Herald! She’s alive!”

The other advisors came running. Hurling themselves forward, the Commander and Seeker Pentaghast lifted the Herald onto their shoulders. He slid his free arm under Cassandra’s grasp and swung the Herald into both of his arms, cradling her against his chest and carried her directly to Mother Giselle – with Josephine and Leliana paving their way through the crowd. 

The Herald was laid on a cot, continuously murmuring passages from the Chant while Mother Giselle wiped her brow and Leliana worked to warm her limbs. Josephine and Cassandra went to manage to crowds straining to see their hero, and Commander Cullen stood careful watch at her bedside. “Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadows…” she mumbled. “In their blood, the Maker’s will is written…” she tossed from side to side as though in a terrible dream, shivering and sweating, panting desperately for a deep breath that she could not snatch. Leliana held her tightly to the cot, nearly sitting on her to keep her still. “Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter…” the Herald kept on, making small whimpering noises here and there, tossing her hair and heaving with sobs that could not come. “Blessed are the Peacekeepers,” she thrashed, and her arms came free of Leliana’s steady grip, “the Champions of the Just.” She thrust her hands upward and they landed on Cullen’s arms. She pulled his hands down to her heart. In her fever, she felt the light of Andraste, flooding her body with the purest, most saintly love she had ever known. She welcomed the light, accepting it and letting it consume her. Andraste’s tears fell upon her inside the blinding light. 

Leliana knelt at the Herald’s side, no longer seeing the need to restrain her. She had calmed considerably since catching hold of Cullen’s hands, and it was possible that she had simply needed contact of flesh to soothe her fits. He, bound by her tight grasp, sat on his heels next to her head and dared not move further. He hoped, bowing his head beside her, he hoped the others had not seen the tears in his eyes. “Here lies the abyss,” she whispered to the wind, “the well of all souls. From these emerald waters…” she trailed off. The light in her fever dream burned red, a fire ready to consume her. Inside, it was blackness. From this she shrank – the outline of the Black City reared on the horizon.  
Cullen felt her recoil and held fast to her hands. “Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you,” he continued the prayer, hoping to bring her back to contentment. “In my arms lies Eternity.” As he spoke, she pulled toward him. She seemed to want to coil into his arms, and he let her. Leliana watched the scene unfold and meditated on its ramifications. The Herald seemed to be in a nightmare. She had reached out for comfort and held fast to it when she found it.

Mother Giselle laid a warm cloth across the Herald’s forehead and tipped a tincture to her lips. Calm enough now to be forced into swallowing, the Herald soon succumbed to a deep sleep. It was not for twenty minutes or more before her grip on the Commander’s hands finally loosened. “Maker…” she murmured, as he pulled his hands free.

XXX

“We must face the reality that she made be broken by her trials,” Leliana insisted, to which Cassandra scoffed. 

“We can be sure of nothing until she awakens,” Josephine reminded them.

“If she awakens.” Leliana was trying to be realistic, but in her heart she felt nothing but fear. 

“Give her time,” the Commander maintained. He had left Warden Blackwall to guard her bedside and taken up the fight with the other advisors. “Mother Giselle expects her to wake before sundown.” But sundown was near, and the Herald was still having intermittent fits. Blackwall kept her still by holding fast to her hand and softly whispering passages from Benedictions until she quieted. It was well known to be her favoured canticle. 

After nightfall, with Mother Giselle lighting a new candle to darn by, the Herald finally began to stir. She half-opened one eye and shrank from the small flame nearby. With a small yelp, she closed her eye again, as tightly as she could. Mother Giselle moved the candle quickly away and laid one hand gently on the Herald’s forehead, hoping her fever had finally broken. 

“My lady?” She whispered, satisfied that the Herald was no longer suffering the worst of her illness. “My lady Herald?”

Lady Trevelyan’s eyes began to open fully. Without the candle nearby to shock them, her eyelids peeled apart slowly but surely. “Revered Mother?” She squinted in the semidarkness. Her voice was hoarse and dry.

“Rest, Your Worship, you’ve had a trying time.” Mother Giselle reached for the bowl of water that she had faithfully kept nearby. 

“How long?” The Herald managed to ask between sips.

“You’ve been in camp nearly two days. It’s been five days since we left Haven.”

“Haven.” The Herald shook her head weakly. “The others?”

“Do not trouble yourself with numbers yet, Your Worship.” Now Mother Giselle tipped a bit of broth to the Herald’s mouth. She needed nourishment more than anything. 

“Cassandra?” She asked hopefully.

“Seeker Pentaghast is alive and well,” she assured her patient. “I will fetch her for you, if you would like.”

“Yes.” The Herald managed. 

In less than a moment, Cassandra was at the Herald’s side. “Catherine?” She pulled a stool up to the Herald’s cot. 

“Cassandra?” The Herald reopened her eyes and managed a small smile. “Poor show of a rescue effort, Cass.” It was a small joke between old friends. Cassandra almost wept at the sound of it. 

“And rob you of your dramatic entrance?” She reached for her friend’s arm and patted it gently. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“I met the Maker in my dreams.” Catherine Trevelyan attempted to sit up, but succumbed to weakness and lay back on her pillow. “He held my hands and offered me a place in the Golden City.” It would have sounded unbelievable to anyone except Cassandra.

“How rude of you to turn him down.” Seeker Pentaghast teased, attempting to ease the seriousness of the moment. 

“The Black City swallowed the light behind Him, and I could not find His grace again.”

“It was a dream, Cath. A fever dream born of illness.”

“It was real to me.” Catherine tucked her hands under her head. “A sign. Of what, though, I cannot be sure.”

“A sign of your survival.” Cassandra assured her. 

“He sang the Chant to me. Andraste and Benedictions.”

Cassandra remembered how Cullen and Blackwall had prayed with her. “Rest, my dear. You need your strength back.” She tucked a loose hair behind Catherine’s ear and tucked a blanket around her sides. “I will tell the others that you are well.”

“Cassandra?” Catherine caught her hand as she stood to walk away. “The others?”

The Seeker sighed. She knew the question would persist until it was answered. “Our losses were great, but our friends survived.” She knew well that there were specific persons meant by the others. “Dorian, Blackwall, and Varric are all well. They keep the camp in good spirits.”

“The Commander? Jos…” Her voice trailed off. Talking strained her. 

“Your advisors are all safe.” Cassandra assured her. 

“Maker’s breath.” Catherine Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste, breathed an enormous sigh of relief. 

“Now will you rest?” Her friend asked, knowing the answer.

“Yes, mother.” Catherine would have rolled her eyes, if the effort were not a pitiful kind of strain, but she closed her eyes obediently and drifted back to sleep.

Days, perhaps a week later, with the spirit of the Inquisition lifted beyond expectation, the camp prepared to move onward towards the great keep that Solas promised was waiting for them across the Frostbacks.  


Alive with hymnals and the burst of light that the Maker had imparted to her, the Herald helped the healers pack their tinctures and bandages. She prayed quietly while loading packs with their small remaining reserves of food. She sang with the children in the camp while their parents gathered their belongings. The Herald did nothing short of live up to her title as the refugees from Haven began their journey through the mountains.


	2. Chapter 2

On the steps of Skyhold, the advisors watched their Herald disassemble the packs that she had aided in creating just a few days ago. She played with the same children whose favourite songs she knew by heart. She laid the injured on their cots and brought them bread and broth. She roused the tired soldiers as they stripped off their armour in the courtyard.

“She has no idea the effect she has,” Cassandra was saying, as they watched from above. “Even as a girl, she was an imp of a thing.”

“It is decided, then?” Leliana asked.

“I don’t see that there was ever any doubt.” Josephine smiled down on the field beneath them.

“I took the liberty of having Master Harritt craft a longsword, for the occasion.” Their Commander beckoned the quartermaster forward. He carried a great weapon, wrapped in oilcloth. 

“It is my finest work.” Harritt claimed, uncovering the sword. “I have never made or seen its equal.” And indeed, the like of this sword had not been seen in any age before. With a blade of folded volcanic aurum and a hilt of carefully carved dragon bone, the width and tang of the blade made the deadly weapon seem lighter than air. Coiled around the center of weight was the molded dawnstone effigy of a high dragon. It breathed fire out across the bottom of the blade, twisting its tail around the hilt, inviting the wielder to protect themselves with its strength. 

Presenting the sword to the Herald was an event that the entire camp attended. Every survivor of the attack on Haven, every child and pilgrim. Every faithful, every soldier, every mage working for freedom – they cheered for their new Inquisitor. And their new Inquisitor prayed for strength with every fiber of her being.

That evening, she wandered down the steps of Skyhold’s courtyard, looking for something – though she could not be sure what. It was just before dusk and the coolness of the mountains sent a chill through her bones. I’ll never be comfortable with the cold ever again, she thought to herself. She resolved to wear more than just her simple tawny leathers the next time she went to wander. 

At the bottom of the steps, Commander Cullen poured over parchments and maps on a broad wooden table, surrounded by scouts and messengers. “Send men to scout the area, we need to know what’s out there,” he was saying. Two of the scouts saluted and made for the structure that was quickly becoming barracks. 

“Commander, soldiers have been assigned temporary quarters,” one of the messengers reported. 

“Very good, I’ll need an update on the armoury as well.” His thumbs were looped in his belt, staring down at the documents spread out before him. “Now!” He crowed, when the messenger tarried and scratched at his uniform. Catherine approached tentatively: if the Commander was in a foul mood, she did not want to disturb him. But he saw her coming, and reached one hand to the back of his neck and squeezed his eyes shut. “We set up as best we could at Haven, but could never prepare for an archdemon or whatever it was. With some warning, we might have…” he trailed off, the memory still too sharp to spell out.

“Do you ever sleep?” It was an honest question.

“If Corypheus strikes again we may not be able to withdraw. I wouldn’t want to. We must be ready.” He bore down on the table. “Work on Skyhold is underway, guard rotations established. We should have everything on course within the week.” His reports were always quick – straight to the point, never meandering. Her thoughts always meandered. “We will not run from here, Inquisitor.”

“How many were lost?” A question she did not want to ask, but knew she had to.

He shook his head again. “Most of our people made it to Skyhold. It could have been worse.” He stood again, looked at her. “Morale was low, but it’s improved greatly since you accepted the role of Inquisitor.”

“Inquisitor Trevelyan.” Her head felt fuzzy every time she thought about it. “I wasn’t looking for another title.” And then, with trepidation: “It sounds odd, don’t you think?”

“Not at all.”

“Is that the official response?” Maker, why did he sound so sure of her?

He chuckled, throaty and sincere, “I suppose it is, but it’s the truth.” With a slight swing of his hips, he stood at full height and leaned his forearms on the hilt of his sword. “We needed a leader, and you have proven yourself.”

“Thank you, Cullen.” She didn’t mean for it to sound breathy, but it did. His lips quirked into a small smile. “Our escape from Haven, it was close. I’m relieved that you…” Maker take her, her stomach was flipping at the mere thought of it. “That so many made it out.”

“As am I.” He kept her gaze for a moment before trailing his eyes down to the patchy grass beneath them. He looked sad. Tired. Worn from the weeks that had brought them from Haven to Skyhold. 

Not sure what else to say, Catherine turned to leave him to his thoughts. 

“You stayed behind,” his voice was low, almost intimate. He reached slightly for her hand to keep her from walking away. “You could have – I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word.”

They looked at each other for a moment before he dropped her hand. With a small nod, she turned toward the corner of the yard where the merchants had set up shop, to browse their wares and see that they were settled well. She could feel him watch her leave, and feel the knot in her stomach tighten as she went.


	3. Chapter 3

Time marched quickly at Skyhold. Every day more pilgrims arrived. More soldiers and farmers and craftsmen pledging themselves to the cause. More mages seeking shelter. More templars shedding the order, willing to fight for cooperation and peace. 

The members of the Inquisition’s inner circle had all found themselves small homes within the environs of the keep. Dorian sat most days in the library with stacks of books on arcane magic and Tevinter history, combing thoroughly through ancient tomes for any mention of Corypheus or something like him. Cassandra carved out a place near the smithy, setting up practice dummies and tucking a bench under a tree to rest on. Blackwall whittled trinkets from spare wood in the barn. Varric watched the world sweep by from his makeshift desk inside the main hall. 

But always, they met on the second floor of the Rest each night (when exhaustion was not too much for them) to share a drink and to take stock of the day. 

They were an oddly satisfying little group of misfits, coming together like puzzle pieces and knitting tightly in place. They could hear the Bull and his Chargers kicking up a storm tonight, feet thumping along downstairs with Maryden’s lively tunes. The Inquisition was in lively spirits, having taken to their new home with great fervor. The five of them sat drinks in hand, and happily said little to each other. There was not much to say today; it having been an expanse of reports to read and letters to write. 

“I’ve had a note from my brother,” Catherine said finally, setting her empty mead tumbler aside. She produced the rather long letter from the inside pocket of her vest and waved it under Cassandra’s nose. “He asked after you.”

“Oh?” The Seeker tried to sound disinterested, but Varric’s eyebrows had already raised. 

“The Seeker has a gentleman friend?” He asked immediately.

“My brother has rather a soft spot when it comes to Cassandra.” Catherine was never opposed to teasing her best friend over this point. “He was devastated when she left to join the Seekers of Truth. Thought he’d never see her again.” She almost giggled at the memory. “Locked himself in his room for two days and barely ate anything. He did nothing but read and sigh for a week.”

“We were children.” Cassandra insisted, but snatched the letter from Lady Trevelyan’s hand nonetheless.

“He asked permission to write to you.” She didn’t mind spoiling the contents, if only for Cassandra’s reaction. 

“Permission?” Dorian almost spit out his wine. 

“Westley has something on a penchant for the dramatic,” Catherine laughed. Her old friend was pouring over the letter shamelessly. 

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a romantic, Seeker.” Blackwall finally broke his silence. 

“I’m sure there are plenty of things about me that would surprise you, Warden.” Cassandra had been prickly around Blackwall since the beginning. It was only through Catherine’s insistence that she spent any time with the old warrior. For the life of her, Catherine could not figure out what Cassandra’s objection to him was, but far be it from her to try to drag an argument out of her friend when she had generally been in a rather good mood. 

“Speaking of romance,” Varric quirked one eyebrow and raised his ale to his lips. “How’s the Bull?”

Catherine and Blackwall burst out laughing as Dorian tried to hide the blanch in his cheeks. “Whatever do you mean?” The mage asked with feigned innocence.

“No hiding it,” Varric grinned triumphantly. “You knew exactly who I was talking to. You could have played it off like I was talking to the Herald.”

“Fasta vaas.” Dorian muttered into his glass. And then, deflecting with less than his usual amount of grace. “Anyone else want to be teased about needing a good shagging? Blackwall?” He smirked at the Warden. “Maybe?” Blackwall sat stoic. “No? Okay then.” Dorian pushed back from his seat and announced, “I need another drink.”

Cassandra rose too, her nose still buried in Westley Trevelyan’s letter. “I should reply to this tonight. I’ll send it with a messenger in the morning.” She knocked straight into Commander Cullen at the top of the stairs, rocking back on her heels with a start.

“Commander!” She jumped to attention. “Forgive me. I was distracted.”

“No harm, Seeker.” He waved her off.

As Cassandra skittered away, the Commander took her seat to the Inquisitor’s right. “How is everyone settling in?” He asked, trying to sound as casual as possible. He almost never joined them at the Rest. There was always a reason for his visits. Usually to drag Catherine away on some business: to discuss a report or debate the approach to an upcoming mission. 

“Did you need me, Commander?” She asked, leaning her elbow on the table and her chin in her upturned palm. 

She thought she saw the tips of his ears pink ever so slightly. “I was hoping to review some of the reports coming out of the Exalted Plains. Scout Harding’s first missives are just arriving.”

“Gentlemen,” she tipped a nod to Dorian, Varric, and Blackwall. “Duty calls.”


	4. Chapter 4

Nearly a month passed. The Inquisitor made a fortnight’s journey out into the Exalted Plains with Cassandra, Varric, and the Bull and returned exhausted but satisfied with the results. There had been several rifts to seal, but the area was now much more secure for their scouts to explore. They all made straight for their quarters, aching for thorough baths, clean clothing, and a full hot meal. 

Halfway through the main hall, Josephine and Leliana scooped their arms through Catherine’s elbows and steered her into the War Room. Groaning all the way, she put up very little fight. It was useless to try to dissuade her advisors from their post-missive check-ins. Leliana shut the door tightly behind them, and suddenly Catherine noticed that all three of them looked terribly apprehensive.

“You should know, Your Worship, that we are doing our best to make this hiccup run smoothly.” Josephine began.

“Hiccup?” Catherine swallowed hard and narrowed her eyes at the three of them. “What kind of hiccup?”

“A social hiccup.” Josephine assured her.

“Had we known that this was a possibility, we would have extended the invitation ourselves, to give us the advantage.” Leliana stood to Josephine’s left.

“Out with it.” Catherine crossed her arms.

“Your family is on their way to Skyhold.” Josephine kept her tone even, hoping it might help soothe the news.

“They what?!” Catherine almost fell backward, but the Commander caught her. 

“We received word from your father his morning.” He told her.

“They have already begun the journey,” Leliana went on. “Likely they thought it best to inform us after their departure to prevent us from dissuading them.”

“Andraste save us all,” Catherine shook her head violently. “Nothing can be done to stop them?”

“I’m afraid it would look quite bad for us to turn your family away so rudely.” Josephine leaned on the war table.

“It will take them the better part of a fortnight to get here from Ostwick,” Leliana continued. “There is plenty of time to ready rooms for them and prepare a reception for their arrival.”

“A reception,” more shaking of the youngest Trevelyan’s head. “Maker’s breath, my mother will love finding things wrong with that.”

“Then we will leave nothing for her to find fault with.” Josephine loved a challenge. “We have the letter for you.” She handed over a single page of parchments that was covered in her father’s scrawling handwriting. 

My Dearest Catherine:  
Your mother and I are anxious to see you. More anxious than I can possibly say. In the months since the tragic fall of the Conclave we have worried for you constantly. Now that you are so well-established in your duties as Inquisitor (our heartiest congratulations, by the way), we have no greater hope than to be reunited as a family. This letter comes to you on the morning of our departure for Skyhold Keep – we simply cannot wait any longer to see you, my dear. We will, of course, pledge our loyalty to the Inquisition during our week with you. You cannot possibly expect any less of us, and we would be remiss in our duty if we did not. Westley insists upon joining us now that he knows that Lady Pentaghast is with you. Please, dearest, tell darling Cassandra that we are glad she is well.   
I hope I may be permitted to pray at your side when we arrive, to sit with you at Andraste’s feet so that we may both feel the blessings of the Maker.  
With all of my love, Father

Catherine made several incoherent grunting noises and jammed the parchment into her pocket. “Pray with me?” She muttered. “He wants to pray with me? He wants the Maker’s blessing to wear like a blighted badge to court balls is what he wants!” She began to pace back and forth before the war table. “And Mother? Worry is a constant state of being for that woman. How is this suddenly any different?”

“It seems as though they intend to stay a week,” Josephine tried to sound very business-like about the whole thing, hoping to bring the Inquisitor’s mind back to focus. “I will enlist the help of our friends to see that every day has some sort of activity to keep them amused.”

“Fighting, praying, and political maneuvering are the Trevelyan family way.” With a sigh, Catherine sat on the edge of the war table, very aware of the disapproving glare she was receiving from the Commander. “Let them tour the grounds, but don’t let my father into the barracks or the mage’s quarters. He’ll be much more than rude to everyone if we let him roam free. Westley, on the other hand? My brother will behave himself. He’ll likely stay at Cassandra’s side the entire week.” She chewed over her family’s habits. They were intrusive and a bit loud, but she knew them well enough to hopefully be able to occupy them. “My mother will be content in the garden. I daresay she’ll spend her time listening to battle stories and then fussing over me when she hears the danger I’ve been in.”

“Was your father a soldier?” Commander Cullen was mulling over the information himself, trying to find a way to help.

“In his youth, yes. He favoured a greatsword until he grew to tired to carry the weight.”

“I can set up a sparring match or two for him, if that will keep him amused?”

Catherine’s face betrayed her – she was all but grinning at him. “I’ll ask Blackwall and the Bull to spar with him. They’ll have to go easy on him, but he’ll love it.”

“Not Cassandra?” Leliana prompted.

“My father would never fight a woman,” Catherine rubbed her closed eyelids. “He would lecture me at the very thought. As a matter of fact, I’ll get a lecture about it anyway, since I find myself in a fray every other blighted day.”

“And we could ask Solas to garden with your mother on one afternoon?” Josephine suggested. Talking about fighting was only making things more tense.

“Would you take tea with her once or twice, Josephine?” Catherine put on a plaintive look. “I know you have a lot to do, but it would go a long way towards making her feel that the Inquisition is civilized.”

“If civilization is what she seeks, I will have a full high tea served with myself, Madame de Fer, and Dorian in attendance.”

“Oh, Josie, you’re brilliant.” 

“And your brother?” Leliana asked after a moment. “What shall we do to keep him occupied?”

“Give him a table in the tavern and let Varric tell him stories. That’s all Westley needs.”

“Well, then we’d better get started.” Josephine nodded with a little curtsy, and the war room emptied immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The introduction of the Trevelyans! Shenanigans await.


	5. Chapter 5

“Gloat all you like, I have this one.” Dorian and Commander Cullen sat in the garden, posturing over a chess game.

“Are you sassing me, Commander? I didn’t know you had it in you.” Dorian loved to tease.

“Why do I even –” the Commander abruptly dropped the pawn in his hand, jumping to his feet when he saw Lady Trevelyan approach. “Inquisitor!”

“Leaving are you?” Dorian remained cross-legged in his chair. “Does this mean I win?”

“Please, don’t stop on my account.” Catherine waved a hand and the Commander returned to his seat.

“Alright, your move.” He faced Dorian down with an air of confidence.

“You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory. You’ll feel much better.” Cocky as ever, Dorian plopped his piece down on the board.

“Really? Because I just won.” Cullen put the mage in checkmate with a broad smirk and a laugh. “And I feel fine.”

“Don’t get smug.” Dorian threw up his hands and turned to stand. “There’ll be no living with you.”

“I should return to my duties as well.” The victor remained, pleased with himself. And then, after a pause. “Unless you would care for a game?”

“Prepare the board, Commander.” Catherine sat eagerly.

“As a child I played this with my sister. She would get this stuck-up grin whenever she won, which was all the time.” He was smiling still – a rare moment of ease stolen out from underneath stacks of reports and correspondence. “My brother and I practice together for weeks. Oh, the look on her face the day I finally won.” He looked down, smile softening. “Between serving the templars and the Inquisition I haven’t seen them in years. “He leaned back in his chair. “I wonder if she still plays.”

“You have siblings?”

“Two sisters and a brother.”

“Where are they now?”

“They moved to South Reach after the Blight. I do not write to them as often as I should.” _Eyes on the board, Cullen_ , he thought to himself. “Oh, it’s my turn?”

“Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.” Catherine leaned her arms on her thighs and cocked her head assuredly.

“This may be the longest we’ve gone without discussing the Inquisition or related matters,” he pointed out some time later. “To be honest, I appreciate the distraction.”

“We should spend more time together.” The words were out before she could stop them.

He seemed surprised, but the sides of his mouth pulled to the shadow of a smile. “I would…like that.”

“Me too.”

“You said that.” He heard his voice drop, but hopped she did not notice. Maker, was she flirting? No, no, he was over thinking, as usual. The Inquisitor had better things to do than flirt with anyone. “We should…finish our game…Right?” His self-effacing inner voice kept on him: _Stop smiling, Cullen. Maker take you, you probably look like an idiot._ “My turn?” He forced himself back on the game.

A few silent rounds later, the Commander sat back in his chair. “I believe this one is yours. Well played. We shall have to try again some time.”

“Yes.” Catherine fidgeted in her seat. “That would…that is…I believe I would enjoy that.”

They sat there for a moment, smiling shyly at each other, not knowing what to say. Finally, he cleared his throat and lifted one hand to the back of his neck. “As much as I’ve enjoyed this distraction, I’m afraid I do have a few reports I’d like to go over with you.” He hoisted himself out of his chair and motioned for the Inquisitor to lead the way out of the garden. “My soldiers in the Western Approach are reporting a great deal of Venatori movement…”

They walked on. Through the mail hall, out onto the ramparts, in and out of the tower that was under construction for the mages to have a sanctuary in the massive keep. They had almost circled all of Skyhold by the time Catherine worked up the nerve to change the subject.

“I thought…we might…talk privately?” She tipped her head subtly towards the menagerie of nearby scouts, indicating she wished to avoid their ears.

“Oh, ah, alone?” Commander Cullen cleared his throat nervously. “Certainly.” They walked a while longer in silence, putting distance between themselves and the scouts. Rounding yet another bend in the ramparts, he pulled uneasily at the back of his neck. “It’s a…nice day,” he offered.

“What?” Catherine stopped in her tracks, startled by the non-sequitor.

“It’s –” He tipped his head. “There was something you wished to discuss?”

“Certainly not the weather,” her voice betrayed the smirk that she was trying to hold back.

“I assumed that much.” His eyes trailed down to the stone beneath their feet. “I can’t say I haven’t wondered what I might say to you in this sort of situation.”

“What’s stopping you?” She rounded on him, preventing him from walking on.

“You’re the Inquisitor. We’re at war…you…” he sounded as if he couldn’t chose between making a joke or a confession. “I didn’t think it was possible.”

She shrugged one shoulder amiably and offered him a small smile. “And yet I’m still here.”

“So you are,” he took the smallest step forward, giving her room to step aside if she wished. When she didn’t, he stepped into her a little further. “It seems too much to ask.” A slightly lopsided grin tucked itself into the corner of his mouth – pleased but not wanting to gloat. One more tiny step had Catherine’s back against the edge of the battlements. She braced herself against the stone, but did not pull back from him. He was close enough for her to smell the subtle mix of leather and arbor blessing that always seemed to radiate from him. She tipped her head up to keep his gaze and let a ragged breath escape her when he started to lean in, slowly – torturously slowly – bringing his head down to hers. “But I want to,” he breathed, just a hair’s breath from her lips.

Just a few feet from them, a door slammed. “Commander!” A messenger came trotting toward them eagerly. “You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana’s report.”

“What?!” Cullen turned on the young man, growling in disapproval. And Catherine did her damnedest to hide her beet-red face from view.

“Sister Leliana’s report,” the messenger held out the missive. “You wanted it delivered without delay.”

Knowing full well that if he opened his mouth again it would be to holler at the top of his voice, Cullen glowered at the messenger, aggressively willing him to leave as quickly as possible.

Slowly, very slowly, the boy seemed to put the pieces together. He saw the Inquisitor squirming uncomfortably against the rampart wall and swallowed a small, helpless yelp when he realized what exactly he had just interrupted. “Or…to your office…right.” He backed away as quickly as his legs could carry him.

Catherine shifted her weight between her feet awkwardly. “If you need to—” she started, but he whirled around and pinned her back against the stone, crushing his mouth into hers without a second thought. The tiny moan that escaped her on impact made his whole body shake. For a brief moment Catherine was lost in the unexpectedness of the kiss – hands thrown wide, back arched, lips parted against his in a heavenly sigh. But as his tongue slipped teasingly against hers, she sank into him, grasping his sides and humming her approval.

“I’m sorry…” he pulled back, looking sheepish. “That was…um…” and there was that lopsided smile again, “…really nice.”

Catherine was flushed from the tips of her ears all the way down her neck. “I believe that was a kiss,” she looked up at him through heavy eyelids. “But I can’t be sure, it’s all a blur.”

He had to laugh at that. Leave it to Catherine Trevelyan to turn a slightly awkward and relatively serious moment into a joke. “Yes, well...” but whatever else it was, the thought got lost when he tipped his mouth down to hers a second time.

XXX

Cassandra caught Catherine as the younger woman trooped happily down the long staircase from the ramparts. “You are suspiciously upbeat,” she observed, battering a practice dummy.

“Do you remember my coming out ball?” Catherine could do nothing to hide her glowing grin.

“The chevalier in your parents’ library?” Cassandra laughed aloud at the memory. “Oh, I remember that vividly.”

“It’s something like that,” Catherine confided. “Only I’m a much better kisser now.”

“Who?” Taking advantage of the difference in their strength and height, Cassandra managed to drag Catherine over to the bench set under a nearby tree. “Please tell me you’re not sneaking off with Varric or—”

“Cass!” Catherine laughed much louder than she meant to. “No, of course not!” And then, with another laugh. “I could never stand between a dwarf and his crossbow.”

“Who then?” Cassandra’s eyes were bright with curiosity.

Like a teenager hiding from her parents, Catherine looked carefully around for eavesdroppers before dropping her elbows to her knees and whispering: “Cullen.”

“Cullen?!” Cassandra squawked.

“Shh!” Catherine clamped her hands over her friend’s mouth. “It’s bad enough that one of his messengers almost saw us, without you shouting it all over the keep!”

“And?” The battle-hardened fighter was staring at her friend with the lovesick eyes of a schoolgirl. Not that she fancied Cullen at all herself, but to Cassandra Pentaghast all romance deserved rapt attention.

“And?” Catherine grinned again. “Maker’s breath, Cass, I don’t know but –” at the idea of more, she blushed. “But that’s the kind of kiss that you expect from a desire demon, not someone raised in the Chantry.”

“A dispatch, Your Worship.” A messenger interrupted their revelry.

The note, addressed in a careful hand, read:

Cath—  
I hope this reaches you before we do. As we came through Gherlen’s Pass on the Imperial Highway, Mother and Father added a fourth member to our party. Lord Henley Galmord is with us now – all pomp and circumstance. I can only imagine one reason he could be coming with us, sister, and I dread to think it’s true.  
Your loving brother – Wes

“Andraste preserve me,” Catherine’s jaw hung open. “Lord Henley is with them.”

“The heir of Tantervale?” Cassandra’s brow furrowed. “But why would—”

“Because they’re trying to marry me off, Cass.”


	6. Chapter 6

Catherine Trevelyan had been a madwoman since receiving her brother’s letter. She had just, _just_ _barely_ , found a sunspot of happiness with Cullen – which she refused to admit that she had been waiting months for – and now he was absolutely nowhere to be found. She had scoured the keep for him last night, and this morning at day break she was told he’s done to the river in the valley just minutes before Josephine came to fetch her for breakfast. “You must eat,” the ambassador reminded her, standing guard over the meal. “I have heard horror stories from the field about how sick you get when you do not eat.”

            It was indisputable, and Catherine bowed to the truth of it. She had been quite a sickly child and the careful dance of mealtimes that her family’s physician laid out for her had done wonders to bring her strength up. It meant, however, that he closest friends (and now her advisors) were on constant vigil to make sure she ate.

            Munching begrudgingly on a bit of sausage bread, Catherine continued to scan the hall for signs of Cullen. She knew she was probably overreacting – after all it had only been a kiss. Three kisses. Three perfect, breathless, chest-pounding kisses. But she dreaded Lord Henley’s imminent arrival even more than her parents’ purely because it had the potential to hurt him.

            Or did it? Maybe those few moments on the battlements meant much more to her than they did to him. Maybe she was thinking far too much about the whole thing, and he had already forgotten it altogether.

            But no, there was his curling mass of blonde hair perched on top of that ridiculous fur-trimmed cloak. There was that small quirk of a smile, tucking itself into the corner of his mouth as he found her eyes on him across the hall. _Maker, that smile…_

            He took a few steps towards her, making no mistake in his strike, when a scout sprang from the doorway at the mouth of the hall: “The Bann has arrived!” The words caused the hall to empty almost immediately, sweeping Cullen away with the crowd.

            Void take her, Catherine was going to have quite a week on her hands.

            The great flood of people in the courtyard of Skyhold Keep parted easily for the Inquisitor. Flanked by Josephine and Leliana, they met Cullen and Cassandra at the front of the crowd. “Cullen, I have to talk to you.” She muttered as discreetly as she could. He was at least half a foot taller than her, though, which make it difficult.

            “Of course.” He nodded and tried to hide the worry in his smile. Had she changed her mind about him already? _Maker’s breath, that would be just my luck,_ grumbled the voice in his head.

            “My family has brought someone with them.” Catherine was muttering as quietly as possible. Cassandra knew about the ramparts, but Josephine and Leliana (hopefully) had no idea.

            “Mm?” Cullen kept his eyes forward but tilted his head slightly in her direction.

            “The heir of the Lord Chancellor of Tantervale,” she hoped – prayed – that she would not need to spell it out for him. There wasn’t time.

            In fact, there wasn’t even time for him to reply before the Inquisition’s herald was calling out, “Bann Reginald and Lady Flora Trevelyan!” And her parents were emerging from their carriage. They did not miss a mark. Her father bowed low and her mother curtsied so deeply that (if she hadn’t known her mother’s distaste for nature) Catherine thought she might have actually been kneeling in the dirt. Catherine bowed back, though not nearly as deeply. “Ser Westley Trevelyan!” The herald went on, and out of the corner of her eye, Catherine thought she saw Cassandra bite her lip out of nerves.

            From behind the carriage, they saw him jump down off of his horse. He strode forward and unceremoniously threw his arms around his sister, kissing her noisily on both cheeks. “Get my note?” He whispered hastily. She only had time to nod.

            “Lord Henry Willem Galmord, first son of Lord Chancellor Martan Galmord, heir of Tantervale!” The herald crowed. _Maker, was that kind of introduction really necessary?_

            A tall, sharp looking man with wisps of gray in his dark hair stepped delicately out of the carriage. Dressed handsomely in an embroidered blue and tan doublet and jacket over soft velvet breeches and sturdy boots, he was quite an elegant show of sweeping a bow over the Inquisitor’s politely outstretched hand and brushing a kiss on her knuckles. “Your Worship,” he simpered, doing his best to bait her with a smile.

            “I am sure you are very welcome, Lord Henley,” was all she said. She was honestly too busy watching Cassandra try not to blush when Westley gave her a great, deep bow.


	7. Chapter 7

            For two days, Catherine had been able to do nothing but take meals and spend time with her family. The only difference today had afforded was that it was Lord Henley she could not escape. She would rather spend a second day having her posture corrected by her mother than be forced to stroll passively along the ground with this man. Well, that was unkind. Truth be told, there didn’t seem to be anything truly wrong with Henley Galmord. It was simply the fact that he was there that bothered her. That he was there with _his_ arm under hers and not Cullen.

            “Truly, the work you do must be exhausting,” he was saying. “I cannot imagine the difficulty you must have in running the keep, alone.”

            “Josephine is in charge of the staff,” Catherine told him mechanically. “I’m afraid I would be rather useless at running a place like this.” She chuckled at the thought. “Sometimes, I have to be reminded when to eat.”

            “I cannot imagine.” His eyes did not crinkle when he smiled, which she found more distracting than she probably should have. His face seemed stagnant even when he spoke.

            “It is beyond imagination,” she assured him. “The everyday machinations of Skyhold are not unlike the movements of a small town.”

            “That sounds highly manageable for a Bann’s daughter,” Lord Henley  observed. He looked out over the valley and the river below, eyes brushing past the small village that had grown up with the arrival of the pilgrims. “Your Worship, I wonder if I might speak candidly.”

            _Here we go_ , thought Catherine. “Of course.” She nodded as pleasantly as she could.

            “The conditions that exist,” he cleared his throat gingerly. “Well, I wonder at what circumstances stand before you, as Inquisitor. You face all manner of danger and threat. Every day sees peril, I’m sure.”

            “Aye.” Catherine could not dispute that.

            “You understand my concern, then, for your safety.”

            “I understand that everyone I meet has concern for my safety.” She stopped walking and turned to face him. “It has been a long time since I was not in some sort of danger.”

            “Yes, of course,” he reached out to take her hand but settled on patting her arm. “But my concern lies not as a member of the flock, you understand, but as one who has a great affection for you.”

            “Your Lordship, I am flattered, but we have only had two days acquaintance.” There it was. Wes was right. Her parents had brought along a suitor. “It is quite impossible—”

            “For me to have formed such an attachment so quickly?” He smiled his small, thin smile. “Yes, you might think so. But I daresay we make quite a handsome pair.”

            “Your Lordship—”

            “Henley, please,” he was practically simpering.

            “Your Lordship,” Catherine gritted her teeth. “I must insist that you change the subject.”

            “As you wish,” he assented, but tucked her hand neatly into the crook of his arm. “We can discuss the matter further with your family if you choose.”

            “I do not choose.” She pulled her hand back sharply. “Lord Henley, whatever…” she searched for an appropriate word, “…accord you have with my parents, it has not been made with me.” Her ears burned and she was sure that she was flush from the top of her forehead all the way down to her neck. While she may be blessed with talent on any number of things, containing her emotions was not one of them.

            “Pardon me, Your Worship.” The voice behind her sounded tentative. A messenger was standing a few feet away looking very nervous.

            “Yes?” She snapped, a little more harshly than she meant to.

            “Message for you,” the young woman – a dwarf, now that Catherine had turned to look at her – turned the note over and saluted before scurrying away. Unfolding it discreetly, Catherine bit back a sigh of relief:

            _“Thought you might want to escape for a while. Come to my office whenever you like. –Cullen”_

            She squeezed her eyes closed. She was certainly in need of escape. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Lordship,” she stuffed the note into her pocket. “I am needed elsewhere.”

            She took the stairs two at a time and made it to Cullen’s door in a matter of minutes. Short of breath and heat pounding, she paused to collect herself before knocking. “Come in!” His voice called.

            “Maker bless you,” she shut the door tightly behind her and bolted the lock. “I’ve been stuck with Lord Henley all day.”

            Cullen was at his desk, reports and orders spread out in front of him, and looking almost as tired as he felt. “Yes. Lord Henley,” he murmured, looking down at the pages in his hands.

            “The nerve of them. All of them!” She shook her head. “And what horrible timing.” Her frustration boiled just under the surface.

            “So is it what you thought?” It might have been her imagination, but she thought Cullen sounded nervous.

            “I’m not sure yet how far they’ve gone, but yes. He’s a priggish fool and my parents must be _thrilled_ with the match.” She groaned at the idea, plopping down on the edge of his desk gracelessly.

            “I see.”

            It was not her imagination. He definitely sounded worried. _How very sweet of him_ , she thought, with a smile. She reached for his hand tentatively. “Cullen, don’t even think about it. It’s nothing.”

            He twined their fingers together and managed a smile. “We haven’t really had time to talk since…”

            “Since…” she nodded. It seemed crude to call it a kiss. It had been much more than that.

            “And now with Lord Tantervale being here…” Cullen seemed incapable of completing a sentence, but strengthened his grip on her fingers.

            “Which means nothing what so ever…” she tried to keep his thought moving: willing him to continue.

            “I thought. Perhaps. We should – Maker’s breath – discuss what happened between us.”

            “Cullen, we kissed. Quite a bit, in fact. And I’m relatively certain there was a sizeable amount of groping, but the memory of the whole thing is a bit fuzzy around the edges.” She was smirking, still sitting on his desk, still holding his hand. She swung her legs around so her thigh was brushing his arm.  
            “Yes.” He chuckled lightly. Of course he knew that. “What I meant was: now what?”

            _Good. Let’s get this all out in the open._ “Well, that depends.” She didn’t mean to be coy, truly, but he was making her blush based purely on proximity.

            “Depends on what?” He dared to look up at her – her smoky gray eyes ghosting over his skin until they locked on his.

Void take her, she could deliver a speech to a hall full of noble at a moment’s notice, but she couldn’t find a single sentence to do justice to how she felt about this man. _But then_ , she thought slyly, _perhaps there are better uses for one’s mouth_. “On this.” Blood pounding in her ears, heartbeat pummeling her chest, she bent down and caught his bottom lip between hers. He froze for a second before meeting her intent. Long, insistent kisses that made her mind blur and her thoughts go blank. His free hand found the back of her neck, tilting her towards him and letting her lips slip open slightly.

            When he broke the kiss for a breath of air, a chuckle bubbled up from his throat. He tugged her off of his desk, swiveling so that she ended up in his lap – one knee on either side of his legs. He pulled her back in again, parting her lips with a little sigh and tightening his arms around her waist. She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, but when they broke apart again they were panting for breath and Cullen’s skin was flushed redder that a summer sun.

            “I’m sorry – I didn’t –” his mind was spinning.

            “Don’t be sorry,” she had her arms on his shoulders, one set of fingers tangled in his hair. “I’m not.”

            “You’re not?” He thanked his lucky stars that he was still in half armour, otherwise she would have known just how not sorry he truly was. “I didn’t invite you up here for his,” he promised. “I just thought…”

            “Cullen,” she leaned her forehead against his. “You don’t have to be shy.” And then, as an afterthought. “Anymore.”

            “How long do you think we can stay like this before someone comes looking for us?” He asked, nudging his nose into hers affectionately. His face broke out into a wide grin.

            “Not long enough.” She guessed.

            He kissed her again, a note of sincere concern in the way he held her as tightly against him as he could. “What will you tell Lord Henley?” He asked, voice quiet.

            “I will tell him ‘no’.” She grazed her fingers down Cullen’s neck and shoulders, down to his arms, trailing kisses in their wake.

            “Will you give him a reason?” Sweet, shy, worried Cullen could not look her in the eye.

            “You mean, will I keep you a secret?” She drew back slightly to look at him – brows creased, lips tugged into an unintentional frown. He nodded.

            “Only if you want me to,” she promised, giving him another ardent kiss.

 XXX

             “I am glad that you wrote.” Cassandra and Westley Trevelyan were standing awkwardly in the middle of Skyhold’s garden.

            “It’s been too long.” Westley shoved his hands in his elbows.

            “You have been busy, of course, learning your duties.” Cassandra’s eyes trailed along the ground. “I do not envy you the endless formalities of it all,” Cassandra admitted. “Life serving the Divine afforded me the luxury to wield my sword with assurance.”

            Westley snorted. “I have been doing as I always did – keeping my ears open for your name and following Catherine in one mad scheme or another.” He directed his eyes to the skyline but kept his voice low. “Cassandra…I hope you understand…” he swallowed uneasily. “How much I’ve missed you.”

            Underneath the padding, the buckles, and the plate mail, Cassandra Pentaghast’s heart beat a little faster. “Honestly, I am glittered that you still think of me at all.”

            “Do you still think of me?” There was a hoarse note of hope in his voice.

            “Oh…” Cassandra’s face softened. “Yes…I do.” She was kneading her fingers nervously.

            “I’m glad.” He ventured to look over and found her eyes fixed on him. “It is a comfort that you are with Catherine during all of this. And selfishly, it is a comfort that I am able to hear of your exploits. Being close to her guarantees that your name is on many sets of lips.”

            “The Inquisition is the subject of much gossip,” Cassandra agreed. “I am honoured to fight beside her.”

            “Cass—” Westley smirked.

            “Well, we both know the kind of trouble she gets up to when left unsupervised.” Cassandra pointed out. “We always thought she needed to be saved from herself, but the treat is external now.”

            “But who looks after you?” He asked quietly.

            “I am no longer a child, Westley.”

            “I did not mean you were.”

            “I know.” She nodded, willing the warmth and redness to recede from her cheeks.

            “I meant—”

            “I know what you meant.” She stopped him. “It has been a long time since anyone has wanted to look after me,” she admitted.


	8. Chapter 8

Cullen dithered on Catherine’s question for three days as the Inquisitor placated her parents and took awkward afternoon strolls with her rather dull suitor. Every evening he would find her in the Rest with her brother, and feign some matter of importance to drag her away and ply her with kisses.

            On the third night they ended up curled together in her quarters, having snuck through the main hall during the one impossible moment of the day when it was actually empty. She sat in his arms; armour rejected in a pile around them, and allowed herself a sigh. “I can’t wait until they’re gone.”

            “This time tomorrow, we’ll be back to tracking cultists and counting rogue templars,” he assured her with a teasing chuckle. “Nice and relaxing.”

            She laughed and nipped at his shoulder playfully. “The only time I ever come close to relaxing is with you. You know that.”

            “You should spend more time with me, then.” He smiled. It was an impossible suggestion. They already stole as much time together as they could.

            An insistent, loud knock could be heard below, matched with an equally loud (and familiar), “Cath!”

            “I’ll stay here,” Cullen sat up in their nest of blankets, but made a game of seeing how difficult he could make it for her to extract herself from his arms before letting her slip away towards the stairs.

            She straightened her posture, tucked her stray hair behind her ears, and hoped Cullen hadn’t left any easily visible bruises along her neckline. “What is it, Cass?” She asked, cracking open the door.

            “Lord Henley is looking for you,” Cassandra and Westley looked worried.

            “What for?” Catherine tried to sound conversational, but it was hard with the two of them looking at her like that and the thought of having to leave Cullen by the fire.

            “It seems,” Westley leaned his head toward her gently. “It seems Mother and Father have already—” he groaned. “Already signed a contract.”

            “They _what_?!” Catherine roared, and heard a concerned footstep or two from upstairs.

            “Lord Henley claims such,” Cassandra nodded gravely. “And he seems to be under the impression that you are avoiding him.”

            “Of course I’m bloody avoiding him!”

            “You’d better come deal with this,” Westley warned. “His Lordship’s in a fit state.”

            “I’ll show him a fit state.” Catherine slammed the door shut in their faces and clomped back up the stairs.

            She picked her jerkin up from where Cullen had tossed it on the floor earlier and pulled it taut on her shoulders. “I’m going to stamp this out.” She put everything she had into that kiss – determination, passion, honesty, care. And then she cupped his face in her hands and looked his straight in the eyes. “Do you want to be a secret?” She asked.

            Three days he had been on this question. And he knew he didn’t have any more time. Everything had escalated so quickly – their time together both continual and painfully brief. Eery moment together precious, every kiss loaded with all the meaning they could muster. It would be enough that she defied whatever arrangement her parents had made with Lord Chancellor Galmord. It would be scandal for the Herald of Andraste to act in anything but a chaste and proper manner. But then – they had been anything but proper. Could he ask her to throw away a profitable, a _wise_ political alliance on a week of passion? On what could best be described as a dalliance? Stolen kisses behind locked doors but no promises. No certainty. No discussion. What kind of man would he be to give in to a flight of fancy? He didn’t even know how she truly felt about him. But then: if he hesitated now, he might lose her forever. And that thought scared him more than darkspawn or lyrium or Venatori or Corypheus himself. Cullen swallowed his doubt, held her gaze, and finally pushed it out: “I love you.” The words burst through him like a hurricane. All the times he had thought – dreamt – or saying them had not prepared him to say them aloud.

            She buckled. He loved her? Had she heard him properly? She swam in the words, letting them wash over her, then she barreled him over, laying him out on his back on her rug and straddled his waist – laughing out loud and giving herself over to kissing him. “That settles it, then,” she said finally. And with a nip at his bottom lip, she flew down the stairs.


	9. Chapter 9

            Their little parade hurried down the halls to the guest quarters. Catherine came to a screaming halt outside of her parents’ door and banged her fist hard against the wood. Her parents were already in their nightclothes, but she took them by the wrists and pulled them out the door. “You had no right,” she growled, dragged them back toward the main hall.

            Lord Henley was easily found, braying petulantly at Varric, who looked nothing short of amused. Catching sight of the parade at the mouth of the corridor, Varric withheld a chuckle and sat up in his chair to enjoy the show.

            “I want answers,” Catherine let go of her parents, slinging them towards Lord Henley. Blood was pulsing in her ears and she was fairly certain that, if challenged, she might be able to manage breathing fire. “No,” she shook her head. “No, you know what? All three of you, listen to me. I expected this, I truly did. And so did Wes.” Westley had a sudden impulse to shrink behind Catherine and Cassandra, but he clenched his fists tightly and stayed where he was.

            “But what I can’t understand is what made you all think this was acceptable. I’m in a leader in my own right, Father. I know I’m not your heir – but Westley will make a better Bann than I ever could.” Lady Flora opened her mouth to protest, but Catherine held up a hand. “And before you say one word about my safety and happiness, Mother, I want you to know two things. First, that I will never be safe again in my life. Even if we find Corypheus, even if we destroy his threat and end the war = there will always be someone, somewhere that will want me dead. I’ve accepted that.” Her father looked stricken – his dark eyes cloudy with the thought of assassins chasing his daughter. “And secondly,” she went on: “I _am_ happy.” Both of her parents started. “Yes, unbelievable as it may seem, the Inquisition…well…it feels…” _Andraste give me strength_. She couldn’t tell her parents that the Inquisition was the kindest family she had ever known. That her advisors and companions were the love and support that they had never been. That Skyhold was already more of a home to her than the Trevelyan Estate had ever been.

            “These are the best friends I have ever known.” She looked Cassandra: the woman who had come and gone so many times from her life that time could be measured by their distance apart. The woman who had born ills with her, defended her, protected and challenged her.

            “We are thinking of your future,” Lord Henley offered.

            At that, Catherine sighed. “I don’t know if I have one. The things I face? Every day there are new threats. I wish I was exaggerating, but I could die tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then the next day.

            “Father,” she touched his arm gently, “I know you’re trying to help. But you can’t pretend I’m your normal little girl anymore. You can’t wish it or will it into being. It’s too late for me to just go back to my room and pick up a book and be ordinary. Go back to Ostwick. Make Westley the new Bann when the time comes.” Her brother slid his hand into hers. “Have the life you’ve always expected to have. Give Wes your focus. He’s ready.”

            “You cannot ask us to let one of our children go.” Their mother was on the verge of tears.

            “I’m not saying that. Write me whenever you like. Come and visit, by all means. I’ll even come back to Ostwick when I can. But…” she squeezed Westley’s hand for strength. “This is my home now.”

            “And what am I to do with all of this?” Lord Henley was looking sour.

            “What exactly was the contract?” She was the Inquisitor now, not simply Catherine. Her back held straighter, her eyes sharper.

            “Your hand, of course, with the title to Ferndean Hall, plus 200 annual allowance.” Lord Henley’s matter-of-fact tone wavered with impatience.

            “The title to Ferndean, Father? Really?” Wesltey’s frustration was beginning to match his sister’s.

            Bann Reginald looked sheepish. “It is a very worthwhile estate.”

            “Those were the terms, what were the conditions?” Catherine braced herself.

            “The conditions?” Lord Henley scoffed. “Why, you are of good child-bearing age and inoffensive enough to look at. What else is there?”

            Catherine, Westley, and Cassandra all clenched fists reflexively. Catherine dimly registered something crash against a far wall, indicating that Varric had probably smashed an ink well to keep from punching someone. “No conditions on my consent?” Catherine asked, teeth gritted.

            Lord Henley, all pomp and circumstance, scoffed at the thought of it. “Stipulation of no fewer than three years’ chastity, of course.” He picked dirt from under a fingernail. “But your parents have always kept you on a tight leash, I understand.”

            Smoke poured from Catherine’s ears. “How exactly did you think to verify that, Mother?” She hissed.

            “Well, I—” Lady Flora sputtered.

            Catherine’s eyes narrowed. “I want you out of my keep.” She was all but growling at Lord Henley. “This instant. Cassandra will fetch a porter to assist in your packing.” Cassandra nodded and was gone. “And Varric will raise your horse from the stables.” She turned to the dwarf. “Wake Blackwall,” she told him, and he shot to his feet. “As for your contract,” she glowered at all three of them. “It is sadly void, by the attentions of Commander Cullen.” Her parents looked mortified. Lord Henley blustered incoherently. Wesley could not stifle a loud guffaw. And Varric, who had heard from the doorway, chuckled softly: “Way to go, Curly.”

            “You will stay tonight and leave tomorrow as scheduled.” She told her parents. “You will swear allegiance to the Inquisition, as originally agreed upon. And you will never again presume upon my personal affairs. Is that understood?”

            They only nodded – unable to fathom that they were taking orders from their youngest child.

            “Good night, then.” She turned on her heel and stalked down the hallway.


	10. Chapter 10

Cullen had barely moved in the thirty minutes or so since Catherine had stampeded out of her quarters. He was starting to think maybe he should attempt discreetly sneaking through the main hall when he heard the fore door slam and the familiar thud of angry footsteps on the stairs. “Cath?” He called cautiously.

            When she finally hauled herself to the top of the stairs, she looked exhausted. “Well, that was fun,” she tried to laugh, but just sounded worn. But there he was, waiting for her, smiling at her. Looking at her with those amber-gold eyes that radiated warmth and comfort every time they fell on her. “I hope you meant what you said earlier, because Maker take us, there will be talk. Plenty of talk. I’m sorry you got pulled into the mire of Trevelyan family politics.”

            “Tell me what happened,” he asked, and she told him everything. Word for word, as best as she could remember it. He was flush by the end of the story, angry with her, she assumed, for lying about him. “You actually said ‘by the attentions of Commander Cullen’?” He asked. He stifled a sound that was either a chuckle or a groan.

            She hung her head in embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” she admitted. “I don’t know what came over me.”

            It was definitely a laugh. Now that Cullen was holding her against his chest, she could feel it. “I suspect you were trying to be kind to your family,” he said, and laughed again when she raised one eyebrow at him incredulously. “Rather than simply stamping your foot like a child, you provided a sound reason for why their contract was void. That was kind to them; really, it will lessen the embarrassment when everything comes to light at home.”

            “I’m sorry you got dragged into this,” she repeated. “I’m not good at politics. I understand them, but I can’t navigate them myself. Although I suppose you know that, having had to sit in on my training sessions with Josephine.” She curled into his chest but did not look up at him. “And I’m sorry I lied.”

            Cullen turned her around in his arms and pressed their foreheads together. “I love you,” he reminded her, as tenderly as he could. “I don’t mind that you…exaggerated our relationship a little.”

            “I don’t want to pressure you.” She slipped her fingers through his, tracing his knuckled and calluses, gently turning each of his hands over in hers. “I’ve loved you for so long now, and I’m afraid I’ve gone and ruined everything in the space of a single night.”

            “You…” he gasped at a breath. “How long?” His mouth hung by her ear, words hot on her neck.

            Catherine forced herself to meet his eyes and hold them. “I stayed behind at Haven because I couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to you.”

            “Cath—”

            “Even after I escaped – I kept dreaming of the Maker, but he had your voice.”

            “Cath,” he swallowed a noise that might have been a gasp. “That was me.” His eyes were wide and dampening with the beginnings of tears. “You were in fits when I carried you into camp. Muttering bits of the Chant. The only thing that calmed you was to pray with you.”

            “You prayed with me?” She shouldn’t have been surprised. Even before they started spending intimate time together, one of the experiences they regularly shared was prayer.

            He smiled – his whole face shining on her – “You grabbed my hand, held it while you dreamt, and hugged my arm. I prayed with you until you fell asleep. And even then, you held fast to me.” He blushed at the memory. Was it really so dear to him?

            “No,” she insisted. “It was a fever dream.” The thought of Cullen as her saviour in the face of destruction was too romantic. Too bloody much like one of Varric’s blighted serials to ever be close to real in any way. “Void take me, I felt Andraste crying with me. Actually thought I felt tear drops.” She strained to impress upon him the level of out of touch with reality she had been. “Cullen, I was having delusions.”

            He gaped at her. It had been months since Haven, but he remember every detail of the dreadful days following the attack. “Maker’s breath…” a few tears rolled down his cheeks. “Catherine, that was me.” He choked a little on his own disbelief. “Crying at your cot. Praying with you. Holding you.”

            “Cullen…”

            He ran a thumb over his lips, hands on her cheeks, eyes searching hers. “I think we can honestly both say – we’ve been in this for the long-term since far before I kissed you on the ramparts.”

            She leaned up to kiss him. Not insistent, not crushing, not searching – just honest. Just loving. Just tender. Her fevered mind had known he saved her, and imagined a saviour in her dreams. His lips pulled at hers, promising comfort and gentleness. “Cullen?” She managed to breathe his name in between kisses. “Stay with me?” It wasn’t a request made lightly, she knew that. After everything the night had brought to light, though, she felt like she had the right to ask.

            “Is the door locked?” He asked quietly.

            She nodded against his lips.

            And he slipped his arms around her and carried her to her bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're in the home stretch, now! Just a few more chapters to go. Thanks for hanging in there with me!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a check with our favourite Seeker...

            Westley sat and waited. The room around him was Spartan to say the least: a neatly made bed and well organized desk against one wall; a large, carefully arranged bookshelf against the other. The only decorations were a few religious drawings on the walls and a vase of wildflowers on top of the bookshelf. The desk held an orderly stack of reports on one side and a packet of letters tied in ribbon on the other. He had lit a single lamp and left it on the desk between the two stacks, and was staring out the large windows as the light flickered across his reflection. He was tired, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep until his mind had settled.

            Behind him, the door scraped open and he heard Cassandra gasp lightly when she saw him in her arm chair. “Wes?” She shut the door behind her and took two steps into the room. “Are you alright?”

            Tired as he was, he reached out to her and she curled up against him, legs hanging off the end of the chair, arms about each other’s waists. “I wanted to finish our conversation,” he nudged his nose against her cheek.

            “That’s probably a good idea,” she agreed.

            “You’re the only thing in my life that’s simple, Cass.” The smell of her never seemed to change: incense and leather with a hint of elfroot. It filled his senses and made him hazy. “You’re the only thing that’s constant.”

            “Ironic, considering how little we see each other,” she pointed out.

            “I know,” he admitted. “But when we do, we never fall out of sync. We’re always just us.” Her arms around him were warm and comfortable. “And I don’t think I want to let that go again.”

            Cassandra bit her lip to keep from grinning. Self-satisfied was not a part of her personality, but Westley always seemed to make her feel so _good_. “What are you suggesting? She brought her eyes back up to his – a lighter gray than his sister’s, like fog rolling over the ocean. “You know I can’t leave here. The Inquisition was Justinia’s next step forward, the next step towards finding peace. The work we’re doing might change…well, everything.”

            “I wouldn’t ask you to leave,” he tried to look reassuring but landed somewhere in concerned uncertainty. “I thought maybe…” he swallowed. “Maybe I would stay?”

            Her eyes widened, breath catching in her throat. _Maker’s mercy…_

“Don’t pretend it’s sudden,” he was slightly amused at the dramatic response. “We’ve known each other thirty years, Cass. I love you, you know I love you. And despite all of your propriety and duty, I know you love me, too.”

            “Of course I do.” Cassandra Pentaghast, mighty warrior and protector of the faith; blushed a deep, dark red.

            “Good.” He held her a little tighter. “Then, I’m staying.”

            “You would do that?” She was breathless – a state that was almost as disconcerting to her as to anyone else. “For me?”

            Westley couldn’t help but laugh. “I’d do anything for you.”

            Cassandra twisted slightly in his lap, roping one arm around his shoulders and twining her fingers through his long hair. She had never understood why he loved her so much. He, at least, was forthright and honest and loyal – trustworthy and giving. He was a veritable beacon of goodness. And he loved her. He had loved her for his entire life. Steadfast and true, never giving her any cause to doubt that he was hers and hers alone. She had traveled across Thedas and back again, only to find notes or tokens from him when she returned to the Divine’s side. She wrote him infrequently, to her dismay, but always at length. It was only in the transition from Haven to Skyhold that they had lost contact. “I don’t know what will happen,” she said at last. “But it will make things easier…” no, that wasn’t the right word. “Everything will be…” _Maker’s breath..._ words were not her strength. She chewed on her lip for a second, trying to figure out what exactly she was trying to say.

            She settled on tilting his head down to hers and brushing her lips gently against his. When she tried to pull back, he held her close – pressing them together and sighing into the kiss. She gave a muffled hum of approval before breaking for a breath of air. She finally had figured out what to say: “I love you.” It was as simple as that.


	12. Chapter 12

            Josephine was waiting at the door of the Inquisitor’s quarters just before dawn the next morning when Cullen tried to make his stealthy escape. “Is she up?” The ambassador raised an eyebrow at him.

            “…yes.” He had a sneaking feeling that she might not be dressed yet, though.

            “Back inside.” Josephine ordered, shoving the Commander backward and up the steps. “Your Worship!” She called loudly. “I hate to intrude, but we should discuss this!”

            Cath greeted them at the top of the stairs in leggings and a dressing robe. She hadn’t had time to pull on a tunic and jerkin yet. “May I make myself decent while you lecture us, Josie?”

            “By all means,” The Antivan nodded, perching on the edge of the Inquisitor’s desk with a wave of one lithe hand. Cullen sat down on the edge of the bed and tried to ignore the fact that the bedclothes now shared their scent.

            “This conversation has no moral gradient,” she began. “You are both adults, of course, and may do as you please.” She paused. “But the ramifications of your actions will be felt. Aside from the aimless marriage proposals Her Worship receives every day, she has now made a political statement.”

            “I have?” Catherine emerged fully clothed and went to sit with Cullen.

            “Yes, Your Worship. By refusing your parents’ arrangement on the grounds of,” she coughed to cover a titter of amusement, “less than chaste behaviour…you have effectively announced that you will refuse political alliance through marriage altogether. Most Andrastian marriage contracts do require chastity, as a rule. The purity of the family line is still a major political concern across kingdoms.”

            “Of course.” Catherine could not believe her stupidity. For want of Cullen’s arms around her, she had ruined a great deal of Josephine’s bargaining material. Of course the ambassador would never have married her off to a foreign noble, but the ability to bandy the prospect gave Lady Montilyet an enormous amount of negotiating material.

            “As your friend,” Josephine smiled warmly. “I say simply how glad I am that you have finally confessed your feelings for one another.” They knew she meant it, and Catherine roped her fingers through Cullen’s for a light squeeze of his hand. There was no mistaking Josie’s romantic tendencies. “As your ambassador, however, I urge you to carefully consider the future of your arrangement and the effect it will have on the Inquisition.”

            “Essentially,” Cullen squeezed Catherine’s hand again. “Either stop what we’re doing and apologize to Cath’s parents, or start picking out names for our children?”

            “No, Commander,” Josephine stood. “I do not believe that an apology would be sufficient to make Thedas forget that the Inquisitor voided a legal contract with,” she cleared her throat pointedly, “passionate behaviour. And I advise a wedding before children, Commander, lest we face a second scandal.” She stood, curtsied, and excused herself without another word.

            “Maker’s breath…” Catherine groaned. “What have I done?”

            Cullen was staring at the rug, his mind reeling. Had Josephine just suggested what he thought she had suggested? Was she honestly advising that their fledgling romance shoot into a full scale relationship at the drop of a hat? Yes, it was obvious enough that they cared about each other – that they _loved_ each other – but everything was piling on top of itself so hurriedly that it almost felt like they might drown under the pressure of it all. But then, he thought to himself, watching Catherine chew nervously on the corner of her bottom lip and swing her legs back and forth off the edge of the bed while she thought, there was no one he would rather be thrown into the deep end with. He kissed the back of her hand, bringing her thoughts back to the immediate conversation. “Would it be so bad?” He asked timidly.

            “What?” Her eyes snapped up to his.

            “Would it be horrible, I mean?” He looked tentative. “Let Josephine plot it out. Some kind of stunt in a few months with something romantic. We can keep up with little shows every now and then. The Inquisition’s reputation would remain unscathed and…” his gaze dropped to their hands and a flush rose up his cheeks. “And we wouldn’t have to hide anything.”

            “Cullen,” Catherine tipped his chin up with her free hand. “She’s talking about being married, not just sharing a dance at a ball.” _Maker’s breath, was he really suggesting they go down this mad path so quickly?_

            He swallowed hard, but held her fingers tighter. “I know.”

            Her jaw dropped. _Andraste preserve me._ “Are you asking me to marry you?”

            “What would you say if I did?” There was a quiet kind of panic behind his eyes. He knew it was insane, but damned if he didn’t like the thought of being with her for the rest of his life.

            “I—” She reeled. By the Void, he would be the death of her: eyes pleading with her to be honest with him, completely aware of the madness that he was suggesting. But really, she already trusted him with her life, had traded secrets with him, and now oaths and kisses, as well. When had she ever felt so sure of anything – or anyone – before in her entire life? If she was going to be honest with herself? Never. “I may not live to see next week,” she said after a pause. “I have no idea of what this war will bring. And either do you. If either of us will, outlive it, or what will happen if we do.”

            The truth of it lurched in his chest, and the pang of the possibility of losing her stung like a knife. “For just one moment,” he leaned down to kiss her neck and cinched one arm around her hips. “Will you tell me what Catherine Trevelyan wants, not the Inquisitor?”

            She smiled – a broad, infectious grin – and the spark came back to her eyes. “Catherine Trevelyan wants to crawl back into bed with Cullen Rutherford and do some very scandalous things to the most scandalous bits of him.”

            “Cath, I love you,” he held onto her and tried to keep his expression serious.

            “I love you, too,” she reminded him. And by the Maker, the feeling of it swelled through her. _Maybe he was right. Maybe it wasn’t such an awful idea…_


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What can I say? I'm a sucker for a happy ending. Thanks for reading!

            The Herald’s Rest seemed louder tonight than usual. The Chargers were encouraging Maryden to rowdy songs and the soldiers seemed to be gambling more heavily. Or perhaps it was only Catherine’s imagination – glad to be free amongst friends after the longest week of her life…

            Upstairs, Dorian was playfully swatting Bull’s hands and Bill was less than playfully mussing Dorian’s flawless hair. “Great lummox…” the mage griped fondly. Varric was trying out dirty euphemisms on Blackwall, putting a check mark in his notebook every time the Warden snorted into his ale. Cassandra was smiling – a sight which most of Skyhold was still not used to – sitting with Westley at the end of the table. Catherine sat down on his other side and regarded the two of them dotingly. “I’m glad you decided to stay,” she told him.

            “My loyalties are here.” He held Cassandra’s hand and smiled. “For the first time in my life, where I need to be and where I want to be are the same.” He gave his little sister’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “Besides, someone has to keep you out of trouble.”

            “And Father was okay with this? With you staying behind? After I gave a whole speech about how you were ready to be Bann?”

            “I think our parents have learned very sharply that we are beyond the age where they can still attempt to dictate our behaviour.” They laughed. “When the war is over, I will go back to Ostwick. Until then...well…I know that I would be loathe to follow a Bann who would not fight for what he believed in. I must be an example to our people.”

            “So Cullen is letting you fight?”

            Cassandra and Westley both laughed at the thought. “He agreed to let me train up with his men, but officially I am part of Lady Montilyet’s diplomatic staff.”

            “Speaking of the Commander,” Cassandra leaned forward. “The last I heard it was a kiss on the ramparts – and then suddenly it’s ‘attentions’?”

            “Ah.” Catherine coughed nervously. “Yes…well…”

            “Josephine wants me to start sending you flowers.” Cullen came up the stairs behind them.

            “Why in Andraste’s holy name would you do that?” She leaned up to meet him halfway for a kiss.

            “Because it’s romantic?” He guessed.

            “Hold it!” Varric ordered, as soon as their lips met. They heard the unmistakable sound of pencil on parchment and broke apart with a scowl. “We’re not your next book, Varric,” Cullen warned.

            “You have no choice, Curly. History books are going to want to know this love story. Might as well make it my version that they publish.” Varric regarded the couples at the table. “Between the six of you, I’ll never run out of material again.”


End file.
